There Are Bad Dogs in the World (1)

I had known Yuria would make her move eventually; it was the sheer speed of it that caught me slightly off guard.

Senility, of all things. Judging by how easily the rumor had spread, Yuria had secured her footing far more thoroughly than I'd credited. Had the nobles not carried it along with such surgical precision, the story would have been smothered as baseless gossip within the hour—yet here it was, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reaching my own ears before a single day had passed. I had never imagined she would manage to turn a Family Head still widely regarded as hale and sound into a senile old man practically overnight.

Yuria seemed willing to do anything, by any means, to claim the seat of Family Head for herself. She had to know it wouldn't go the way she imagined—which meant there was some reason driving her.

"The board won't change immediately," Arwen said. "Rather than taking over the title outright, she'll satisfy herself with an acting position for now."

I nodded at her words. Yuria had used senility as grounds to relegate the Family Head to a useless old man packed away in the back of the house, but if she succeeded him on the spot, her intent would be laid bare for all to see. No doubt it had been Yuria who killed the servant, and Yuria who disposed of the matter so carelessly besides—but the nobles who had already crossed over to her side would hardly be eager to look too closely.

"And having met him yourself, you know the rumor has almost no truth to it."

"I know. I saw him just yesterday."

"Now that things are in motion, you'll need to act step by step. Do you have a method in mind?"

A method. I had already thought this situation through, so Yuria's behavior hadn't thrown me off balance. I had merely found it unexpected that she'd chosen a rougher approach than usual. If everything I had done until now had been the opening skirmish, then answering the news Yuria announced today would mark the start of the real war.

"It's not that I don't have one."

I could respond right away if I chose. The preparations I had entrusted to Renald were complete, and in Yuria's current state of mind, even the slightest movement on my part would provoke an outsized reaction. But that wouldn't be the end of everything. I studied Arwen for a moment, then shrugged and spoke quietly.

"Just curious, but—a question."

"Yes?"

"Is there such a thing as a drug that induces hallucinations?"

If all I wanted was to become Family Head, I would never have gone looking for one. What I desired above all else was to bring this connection to a certain, final end.

"Oh? You're here."

"Though I'll likely be leaving again."

Having caught the sound of my approach, Adrian—who had been strolling near the Moon Tower—came toward me. At this hour she had probably just returned from the cathedral. She resided at the Moon Tower, but I hadn't seen much of her lately, busy as we both were with one thing or another. And now I had to leave the tower again; at my words, Adrian let out a small, rueful murmur.

"Mm. So it really is family business keeping you so busy."

"I'd hoped to settle as much as possible before this summer ends, but I can't promise it will go that way."

"Is that so? I wish there were some way I could help, but it seems there isn't."

"Your concern is more than enough. Still... I suspect nothing good could come of entangling yourself in Taylor affairs."

The renown of House Taylor was known far and wide—but so was its infamy. What tended to happen whenever the Family Head's seat changed hands was already the stuff of legend. With the imperial succession more or less settled these days, the matter the nobles devoted their most painstaking attention to was the succession of House Taylor itself.

By rights, a considerable share of the nobility had been aligned with Yuria, but lately a few of the sharper-eared ones had quietly signaled their willingness to cooperate with me, and several others had drifted back into neutrality. And so the situation, delicate as ever, was no longer what it had once been. If I were to put noble support into numbers, I'd call it seven for Yuria, two for me, one for the uncommitted. Taken at face value, those figures made Yuria look overwhelming, yet the tide wasn't purely against me. Weigh her crumbling mind, add in the factions beyond the nobility, and the scales came out roughly even. The balance that had tipped decisively toward her around this time last year now hung level. Which meant the fight was only going to grow uglier from here.

I would have welcomed Adrian's help in all this—but the Church keeping its hands out of this struggle was, frankly, for the best.

Understanding, Adrian exhaled a small sigh, then looked up at me again, lips parting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hesitantly.

"Then... are you planning to head back today?"

"Not today, but within the next few days. There's somewhere I need to stop on the way. I'll drop by my room, then head out again."

"If you ever need something from me, please don't hesitate to ask. Whatever lies within my power, I'll gladly do it."

"Thank you. Then I'll see you when next you have a moment."

I worried I might seem to be rushing, but Adrian only gave me a soft smile, waved, and quietly slipped away.

The truth was, there was nothing grand behind this errand. It was a day no one else would have thought twice about—a day that mattered only to me.

I stepped into the empty room and went to the desk. No lamp burned in the darkness, but my gaze cut straight through the shadow and found what it sought: a picture frame sitting neglected in the corner, forever kept face-down. Lifting it carefully, I looked upon the worn painting within—a woman seated alone in a chair, her hands folded in her lap. The painted face had rubbed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠away until it was nearly unrecognizable. Only I would ever be able to say for certain who this woman was.

"...Fifteen years already."

Exactly fifteen years, this year. Realizing just how much time had slipped away, I closed my eyes for a long moment. I had never imagined the date would land in the middle of days like these. Call it fate's little joke or what you will—the return of this anniversary left an inexplicably bitter taste in my mouth. I regarded the frame a moment longer, set it back on the desk, and turned away.

There was somewhere I needed to go. A graveyard that likely no one visited anymore—or more precisely, the place where my mother lay. Today was the day my mother died.

The paladins started ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠slightly when I emerged from the Moon Tower yet again, but my comings and goings had grown frequent enough that their reaction was little more than a shrug. If anything, they may have been relieved I wasn't leaving at Adrian's side. Back in the South, hadn't Berod himself led the charge of watching me with suspicion?

I walked a long while beneath the darkening sky before arriving at a cemetery far too humble to be the resting place of a ducal house's mistress. I never learned why my mother had been laid in a place like this. It was a plot made separately, yes, but even so it was hard to call it a fit for the only member of the ducal family buried there. The grounds, at least, had been faithfully tended—the grave was immaculate, without a speck of dust—and that small mercy eased my mind a little. This, at least, had never changed across my regressions. My father hadn't so much as reacted when my mother died; perhaps this final decency was the last courtesy he meant to pay her. I could never know what he truly thought of her. No matter how many times I asked, he never answered, and perhaps I never would.

"It's been a long time. I should have come while it was still light, but I've been terribly busy."

The dead do not answer. She had been a woman of few words even in life, and the mother preserved in my fading memory kept her silence still. I doubted she would scold me for arriving late. If anything, she would fuss and ask whether something had happened. ...In that respect, she was never a good fit for the Taylors at all.

The strange thing was why a woman like her had entered a political marriage with the Taylor family in the first place. She surely had the standing to refuse. She was no commoner of modest birth—so why had she come to Father? It was a question I turned over now and then, but since answering it required imagining a world in which I was never born, I always gave it up.

My mother's name was carved into the gray headstone. I looked at it for a while, then sank down heavily before the grave until my eyes were level with the stone. As a child, I had always been the one gazing up at her. I remembered being nearly the same height the day the stone was first raised, and sitting here now, that memory came flooding back.

I had been a tearful child. Compared to Yuria, born first, I had nothing remarkable about me, and when a pet died I would grieve for days on end. People said I took after my mother's temperament, and at the same time I grew up wearing the label of an heir unfit for the Taylor name. Not that it mattered much in those early years—more than a few who said such things in front of Mother were soundly chastised for it. Even Yuria was merely prickly then, not yet given to the cruelty she would show later.

But when Mother died, I was the only one who truly mourned her. Crying until I fainted, waking only to cry again—all that remained to me in the end was the name Taylor. Dying without ever learning to live with it—that was my first life.

"You would think I've changed a great deal. I imagine I'm quite different from the son who visited you last year."

Every time my regressions brought me back to this place, I found myself aware of how far the current me had drifted from the me of the year before. The me of last year was still living in that same foolish first life; the me of now had died and returned more times than I cared to count. I couldn't begin to guess what she would think if she could see me. I was a little afraid she would be disappointed by how cold I had become since those days.

"...This time, I'm different still."

Different from the life before. I had killed my fiancée, and now I meant to raise a sword against my own sister. This would be the first time anyone tore the title of Family Head away by force, and even I couldn't say how much blood would be spilled for it. You wanted me to leave the Taylor name behind and grow into someone upright; what you would feel now, I couldn't say. But one thing was certain—I was very far from the son you had hoped for.

A breeze passed, and the thin grass growing over the grave swayed. The soft rustle sounded almost like an answer. I didn't know what answer it gave, but it seemed to stir at my words, and I smiled faintly. It felt as if I had committed some sin and come crawling to beg forgiveness. Of all days, it had to be the day Yuria moved against Father; of all days, it had to be the day I set out to claim the seat of Family Head.

Mother would probably ask me whether I couldn't turn Yuria back toward the right path. Even when I was small, she had tried, again and again, to mend her daughter's temperament. If asked whether Yuria's nature had shown that madness from the very beginning, I could honestly answer no. Her character had warped sharply after Mother's death—the rot at her core played its part, but it was, in the end, born of jealousy toward me. Jealousy over the affection I received; perhaps an inevitable wound between siblings born years apart. But the hatred Yuria nurtured was far fouler than that.

Words I had heard as a child went on to shape my regressions a great deal. Because I had believed Yuria and Theresia could change. Because even in hating them, I could never bring myself to hate everything they were.

Of course, this life was different. Didn't I know now that Yuria was rotten to the root? Whatever Mother may have said, I had learned with my own body, through death itself, that even her words could be wrong.

I regarded the dull luster of the headstone for a long moment, then rose and bowed my head in silence.

"The next time I come here, it won't be as Robert. It will be as the Duke."

So I ask your forgiveness in advance. You, of all people, had wished more than anyone for us to get along—and so I, the one trying to sever that bond, had no choice but to beg pardon for my sin. One of us—me or Yuria—would have to die for this to end. That much, I believed.

Her words surfaced in my mind: there are no bad dogs in the world. No one is a bad person from the very start—the saying Mother used to let slip like a habit, always. At the memory I smiled bitterly, then let out a small sigh and stared into the empty air. Most of what you said was true. But if a single thing was wrong, it was that.

There are bad dogs in the world.

Certainly. Undeniably.